Party at the Bellschmidts
by cheshirejin
Summary: Costumes, oddball characters and an Italian dressed in nothing but a pizza box... GerIta, Spamano, Prance and a hand full of Nordics playing multi-player war games in the living room.


The room was already crowded and the party was only just getting started. Germany had arrived by the front door precisely on time to greet their first guests before retiring to the living room. He looked around, but didn't see anybody he particularly wanted to hang out with at the moment, so he resigned himself to finding a somewhat quiet place to stand and watch over the crowd to keep himself entertained. He and his brother were known to throw a decent costume party and most of the people they had invited would be attending.

"There you are Germany!" the unmistakable voice of Germany's best… well, only really, friend echoed happily through the air. "Look here I have a beer for you," he hollered out and Germany turned to accept the proffered red, plastic, party cup gratefully.

Then he got a good look at Italy.

"What the hell are you wearing? Come with me," he ordered his friend. He grabbed him by the arm to drag him into the nearest empty room, his own, and shut the door behind them. "Why would you even think to dress like that?" he asked.

Italy looked up at Germany with big, teary eyes and whined, "But, it was big brother France's idea. He said…"

"And what have I told you about listening to France?" Germany interrupted the little Italian feeling totally exasperated. He placed a hand on each of Italy's shoulders and spun him around then marched him over in front of a tall dressing mirror. "Just look at yourself, Italy."

Italy looked into the mirror, and saw himself with Germany standing behind him in his police uniform costume, looking handsome as usual, stern and angry. "I see me, and you, and nothing else is happening. I don't like this game Germany, can we do something else now?" he asked.

Germany rolled his eyes; leave it to Italy to not really notice that all he was wearing was a deep dish pizza box that he had somehow managed, apparently with France's help, to cut a hole in so he could wear it around his man bits and a visor the same color as the logo on the box. (_Note to self, beat the ever-loving shit out of France for this later_). There was no way Germany was going to let Italy parade around in that all night in a crowded house. Just seeing the thick sheen of what had to be olive oil on his skin, a small rivulet of it slowly working its way to the all too exposed cleft where his back and butt meet was giving him dirty thoughts, and he was pretty sure that if Italy were to bend over the view would be… ok enough thinking about that, time to convince the dummkopf not to ever, ever, wear something like that out in public again. But how? The man simply had no modesty about his body.

"Italy, if I was the one wearing nothing but a pizza box and a hat? Would you let me go running around out in public like that? Is that something a friend lets their friend do?" maybe some role reversal would do the trick.

Italy made the mistake of actually picturing Germany dressed like that, his muscular body covered in a thin sheen of oil, nothing but a flat cardboard box covering his nether regions. To his horror there was an audible thump from inside the pizza box around his waist, and he quickly reached down and clamped his fingers around both sides in the front to keep the lid from popping open on him. Germany was right. There was no way he would let him leave the bedroom, not to mention then house, dressed like that. But there was a big difference between Germany's muscular, sexy build and Italy's scrawny, comic relief body. He was sure no one would be turned on by him. "Ve, Don't be silly, of course it would be totally wrong for you to wear something like this. Pizza isn't a German food." His eyes met the icy blue eyes of his best friend in the mirror, and he knew he had blown it. Germany had definitely noticed his not too subtle, totally embarrassing reaction. There was this totally indecipherable look on his face.

Germany was having some sort of a meltdown. _How could he? that wasn't? Was it?_ _Oh scheiss_, He was as hard as a cement-pillar in seconds, and didn't know what to do with himself.

Prussia sat across the room from them, pulling his hockey mask up just enough to get a drink from his beer. Hungary and Austria still ran around together like a couple, even though their marriage had ended eons before. They were sitting next to each other on his couch dressed as Jack and Jill from the nursery rhyme, complete with holding a wooden pail between them. They were being happy and friendly, enjoying themselves, talking and laughing with some of the other partygoers. He sighed a little, they both looked so perfect together, smiling and having a good time. Part of Prussia was good with that, they both certainly deserved to be happy, and this was his party, it damn well better be awesome fun.

Another part of him felt miserable. Why had his younger brother invited them to their party? He had to know the mixed emotions that it stirred up in him. Even Prussia himself, as awesome as he was, had never quite figured out why the sight of them together pissed him off so much. It didn't matter, he was awesome enough to wait for an opportunity to piss on their parade, and eventually one would crop up. It always did, no reason to force it.

Of course Germany had to invite them, because they were close, like parents or something, to Italy and Prussia's little brother was very secretly in deep, down, hidden, glaringly obvious, completely gay love with Italy.

Well hell, then that made them almost family didn't it? Maybe later on he would ask Hungary how she had talked that priss, Austria into wearing lederhosen. On second thought, he didn't want to know. Prussia finished the beer he had in his hand and went to the kitchen for another. There was no way he was going to spend any more time than he had to sober tonight. He would go say hi to the happy couple later, once he achieved a decent buzz.

Spain leaned against the kitchen counter dressed to the nines in a fancy matador uniform. His green eyes were busy memorizing every line and curve of a slender man across the room from behind.

"I am not a friggin Mime you pervert-bastard!" Romano snapped at France, every muscle in his body tense and his hands balled up into fists at his sides.

"It's true, Amigo, he is a gondolier, see, he wears a straw hat instead of a beret, the red sash around his middle, and no makeup." Spain said from where he stood observing the argument with amused detachment. He loved it when his little tomato was angry at someone besides him. He could fully appreciate the passion that oozed out of the young man's very pores when he didn't have to defend himself from the worst of Romano's anger management issues.

Someone walked into the kitchen just then. He was tall and wore a black sweater and pants, his face covered with a hockey mask. The sweater was covered with something flakey and a spray of red that most likely was supposed to be blood. The whole getup suddenly made sense when the box of cereal with a huge kitchen knife stuck in it came into view. This man was obviously a cereal killer. His identity was somewhat given away by the pale spikes of hair that could be seen from around his mask.

"Gilbert, is that you?" France asked anyway, just to make sure.

"Yeah, hey, toss me a beer," Prussia said to Spain who happened to be closest to the fridge, "I am drinking the good stuff in here, can't stand that piss water little bruder has in the keg out front for the masses." He added with a grin.

Spain tossed him a beer and he pulled his mask off, sitting at the table across from France and opened it with relish, chugging the first few swallows before setting the bottle down on the table.

"So, do the Bellschmidt brothers throw an awesome party or what?" Prussia asked with a wide grin. The whole estate was buzzing with people socializing and drinking and having a good time.

"Speaking of brothers, has anyone seen mine around here? I haven't seen him yet, I hope he didn't get lost on the way here…" Romano trailed off worriedly trying to figure how long it should have taken Italy to get to the party.

"He is here somewhere; I helped him with his costume earlier." France said with what was meant to be a reassuring smile, but could have been taken for a perverted leer as well.

"You what?!" Romano said barreling toward France once more, intent upon hitting him, only to be caught around the middle by Spain and held away from his intended target. "If you touched him in any wrong way you pervert-bastard I will cut your balls off and shove them down your throat until you choke to death on them!"

"Relax, Romano, I didn't lay a finger on Italy, I merely gave him advice on what costume to wear. If you are so concerned about him, perhaps you should go look for him and see how he is doing for yourself, hmmm?" France suggested.

"Come on, Lovi, maybe he is in the den playing video games with the others." Spain said, dragging a still fuming Romano out of the kitchen behind him.

Spain pulled Romano into the den where he let go of him, huffing in pain, upon receiving an elbow to the ribs.

There were five ninja's taking up the available seating, playing some multiplayer war game on the big screen TV. Four of them were in Hollywood-style black costumes and the last was in an orange jump suit with and a navy blue headband around his spiky blonde hair.

One of the ninjas hollered out, "sniper no sniping, sniper no sniping, sniper noooo sniping."

"Awe, man." the one in the orange jump suit said, setting his controller down.

"Keep sharp, Finland. I will get him with my noob tube and you can snipe him again after he respawns." one of the other ninja's said.

"So cruel, Norge," the first ninja whined.

"Only two m're left," a rather large ninja wearing eyeglasses muttered.

"Right, Sve Denmark only gets to use the Dora escape three times in a game, it's a rule," Finland agreed smiling eagerly as he picked up the controller again.

"Wait, who's RC is that?" Norway asked before cursing as his soldier bit it in an explosion.

"Got you, big brother." The last ninja said smugly.

Spain and Romano left the room, Italy was obviously not there.

Prussia took another long drink from his beer, and then looked over at France, only then registering what the other was wearing. The man had a pair of black cat ears on that seemed to move of their own accord, he also seemed to be wearing a sheer black lace body suit that went from his neck to his wrists, and beyond, he could see he had on a wide leather belt that held a covering cloth over the front of his crotch and most likely a tail in the rear. Leave it to France to use ladies lingerie yet manage to make the costume somewhat masculine. "Those ears are interesting," he ventured, watching them swivel into an upright position as he mentioned them.

"Oui, they are activated by one's mind. I found them in Japan's country. I saw them and for some reason just had to have them. They are very fashion forward, the first in mind controlled accessories."

Prussia smiled, he thought they looked a bit ridiculous, but the idea that he could tell what held France's attention by just watching the ears was intriguing. Even after being friends with him for centuries, he doubted he would ever know what turned the wheels in that one's head.

"So, you are in here avoiding the happy couple, no?" France asked, direct and to the point as usual.

"I guess you could say so. I don't know why I am even bothered by it. It's not like I actually want the tomboy woman or her sissy boyfriend. I think maybe I just feel left behind because they found something together that I haven't yet." He took a long swallow of his beer while staring into the middle air between them contemplating what he had just said. It took a lot for him to admit that much out loud, but France was a good friend to him in recent years, and wouldn't use it against him, he hoped.

"Perhaps you are just not looking in the right places, Gilbert." France said, a completely solemn look on his face totally set off by those silly goddamn ears pricked up to full attention atop his head.

Prussia couldn't help but laugh, but he reached out and grabbed France by the hand, "It's those ears, with that serious expression," he managed after a few seconds. "They make you look so silly, I couldn't help laughing." Then he pulled his hand to his mouth and gave it a light kiss. "You always know how to make me feel better, Frances," he said thinking to himself that maybe he has been overlooking an interesting yet obvious possibility when it came to romance.

"If you want to feel a whole lot better, we could go to your room?"

It was a question, and an offer, and Prussia wasn't foolish enough to refuse. Standing but being careful to never release France's hand, he led him to the stairway leading down to his basement bachelor pad / fortress of solitude.

Spain followed Romano around the house, they had seen many of their friends and been pulled into a few conversations, but he could tell his little tomato was still looking for his beloved brother. He had intentionally led him around to common areas, hoping to find Italy in the midst of a lot of people and not secluded away somewhere in a romantic setting with Germany. Something France said earlier about Italy wanting to dress up for Germany made him think it would be better if he just kept Romano clear of those two tonight.

Alas, eventually there was only one place left to check. He could almost see the steam blowing from Romano's ears as they approached the door to Germany's bedroom. Spain stepped ahead of him before he could barge in and cracked the door a bit, peeking inside. He couldn't help but blush at what he saw but quietly shut the door and wrapped an arm tightly around Romano as he led him on down the hall.

"Wait! What did you see? Is Germany in there? Is Italy with him? Tell me you tomato bastard!" Romano said trying in vain to wriggle away from Spain's surprisingly strong grasp.

"Germany is just… tipping the pizza delivery boy." Spain said after a moment's consideration. Romano would be pissed at him for the slight deception, but he could keep him busy for a while longer and let Germany and Italy have their moment. Maybe if he could get the little, hot blooded, love of his life alone for a few minutes; he could do some other things to distract his attention from his brother. "Let's try the patio next."


End file.
